


Charmolypi

by The_Readers_Muse



Series: The (right) kind of monster [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Animal Traits, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Drama & Romance, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Psychological Trauma, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: All in all, he was pretty sure he hadn't slept so well in years as he had these last three weeks.
Relationships: Jimmy Price & Brian Zeller, Jimmy Price/Brian Zeller
Series: The (right) kind of monster [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/900459
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Charmolypi

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own NBC's "Hannibal." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Fourth part of the "Right kind of monster" series. Sequel to "The (right) kind of monster," "Labascate (but never yield)" & "Theomachy." I wanted to write a bit of pre-slash Preller where after Beverly was murdered, Hannibal came after Zeller next, only – unexpectedly - he bit off a bit more than he could chew and now the aftermath of that scenario (told in "The (right) kind of monster"} is being continued.
> 
> Disclaimer: vampires, blood drinking, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, mild animal traits/behaviors, pre-slash, drama, angst, domesticity, psychological trauma, mild sexual content. - Told in Jimmy's pov.

He hazed a comfortably resigned sigh as he blinked himself awake thirty minutes before his alarm - just like he always did. Finding himself with a face full of Brian's hair and familiar skin pressed against his. His lips twitched as the back of Brian's head took shape in the gloom. Off set by the thick blackout curtains that were pulled tight across the bay window. A necessity for the weird hours they tended to pull these days.

He joked that the periodic bursts they went through a couple times a year meant it was 'psychopath breeding season.' In his experience, when the weather was in that safe middle ground - not too hot, not too cold - that was when the biggest assholes in the country got busy. Using blood and death for courtship to the world at large, or maybe just a select few. It depended on the psychosis.

Funny thing was, it was a whole lot easier going to bed with someone when it was all over. Even if it meant fighting over the leftovers in the fridge and space in the bathroom, before collapsing into bed the same time most people were starting their day. Finding something to count on with the naked press of air-chilled skin and the lingering smell of dryer sheets. Conscious of it all, of everything he'd gained, until their breathing slurred and sleep took over.

It was their own private ecosystem. A completely new creation that just so happened to have settled in his bedroom. Where once upon a time he'd optimistically bought two bedside tables instead of one. Only to have to look at it for years afterwards, standing out like a pathetic, lonely beacon before Brian had walked in and unceremoniously claimed it for his own. Littering the surface with keys and reading glasses, receipts and clothes tags that never made it to the garbage until his cleaning lady shamed them into at least _attempting_ to tidy up the night before she visited.

All in all, he was pretty sure he hadn't slept so well in years as he had these last three weeks.

Not that he told Brian that.

The man's head was big enough, thanks.

Because weirdly, despite the capricious nature of the universe, things had gotten better instead of worse. In the intervening weeks, Brian got his field clearance and neither of them had batted an eye when he started leaving things at his place instead of packing them up the next morning. At first it was just a toothbrush and a change of clothes. But soon that turned into an entire drawer in his dresser and Brian's spare tablet making a home in his den.

Yet, for a big change, not a lot changed at all.

Which he supposed was the mark of the real thing right there.

They still bickered.

They still laughed.

They still worked together.

Still managed to come up with completely different opinions of the same trace evidence.

The only difference was there was something else now. Something that tickled on the edge of his awareness. The feeling that something wasn't quite right and Brian was wrapped up in the middle of it. He knew Brian well enough to know he hadn't gotten the full story. Anyone with half a brain knew you didn't go through something like that and not keep some of it close to the chest. But still- the insistence that there was something wrong with him? That somehow Brian _was_ the monster he'd asked him about the morning he'd crawled into bed - shuddering with fading adrenaline.

It worried him.

_No, it was more than worry._

It seemed like an open and shut case of PTSD. Something to be solved with a bottle of chalky pills and a standing appointment with the department psychiatrist.

All expected and understandable, considering the circumstances.

Hell, he'd been forced to sit through a few sessions himself. After Beverly. Then after Brian's near miss. He learned later it'd been at Jack's insistence. He'd spent the entire two hours talking the poor woman with over-plucked eyebrows in circles until she sighed and rubber stamped him. Jack hadn't said anything, but the glare he gotten when he reported in the next morning did it for him. He'd been too exhausted to care.

But Brian acted like it was the only thing that made sense. Seemingly resigned to the idea that if they talked anymore about it the entire world would collapse in on them.

As far as he was concerned, how someone survived something like Brian had was their own business. And how they dealt with it should be the same. But he was with Brian now. _Finally_. And honestly, it felt like it was at least thirty-five percent his business. At the very least it was his responsibility to help him through it. He'd been cleared for active duty. That had to mean something, right?

His nose twitched, holding back a sneeze. Unable to ignore the little voice that reminded him that Will had been cleared for duty too - at least a half dozen times. And look how that turned out.

_God, he needed to get back to sleep._

He blinked at the ceiling when Brian sighed and flomped onto his other side. Showing him the beautiful curve of his back, the knobs of his spine and lithe muscles he already knew intimately. Vaguely wondering how Brian could afford half the shit he saw on the list he gave to the insurance company on their salary.

And there it was again.

_That feeling._

He couldn't quite focus in on it yet.

But it was there.

Stuck to the inside of his eyelids like a lingering double image.

He exhaled wetly before closing his eyes and turning over with him. Cock firming as it settled in the dip between Brian's cheeks. Thin linen boxers doing little to mask his interest as the man let go of a soft sound and pressed back. Subtle. Surreal. Sated.

When he finally got back to sleep he dreamt that Brian was an ocean of unsteady red and every time he reached for him he started bleeding through the creases.

* * *

Things didn't go back to normal.

Not quite.

Some of it was for the better, like the horizontal tango they were so far enjoying.

Some not so much.

The 'thing' - trademark stamped and lit in neon - stuck around. Simmering in the background like an ignored crock-pot. Indignant and sulking. Graduating from annoying to a lingering feeling that only dug itself deeper whenever he tried to root it out.

Something about Brain.

There was something different about him, and not in a PTSD way either.

He held himself differently. He knew it was ridiculous, but it felt like whatever happened in that marsh had forced him to find himself or something. He knew it was late, as far as coming ages went, but Brian even seemed more comfortable in his own skin. Less impetuous. Less anxious to prove himself right every single time they disagreed in the lab. They still argued, but it was like Brian had lost the childish edge that tended to pop up whenever pride was involved.

It was weird.

Nice.

But weird.

 _Settled,_ was the word he was looking for.

Sort of.

He frowned at the ceiling. Knowing it still wasn't quite right. Because there was a physical aspect to it as well. Like the way he seemed to be walking taller. Not to mention that almost sixth sense thing he had going on lately. He kept trying to convince himself it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Like that time they'd been talking trash about Jack not approving their overtime when Brian had stopped in mid-sentence - head cocked like he was trying to hear something - all of thirty seconds before Jack came around the corner. Or early last week when Sheila from ballistics had bumped into him in the elevator and spilled coffee down his shirt. Brian had acted so squirrely that he'd actually snapped at him. Having to endure a lot of glaring hovering when Sheila breezed in later with a tide pen and a fresh cup from his favorite place as an apology. And there'd been that time when-

_No._

_He didn't need this._

He grunted, mashing his face into the pillows. His pillows this time. Having successfully coaxed Brian over to his small piece of suburbia for the sixth night in a row with the promise of a home-cooked meal. They'd ended up barely salvaging the pasta. Impressed and disbelieving when Brian had just laughed and whipped up a sauce with the contents of his cupboards like it was nothing. Like he ate like this everyday instead of surviving on take-out and three granola bars a day like he did in the lab.

He'd had enough of surprises. Enough of mind games and second guessing. Enough of homicidal maniacs for colleagues and almost friends. Enough of worrying about Brian. Enough- just _enough_.

Brian shifted beside him, feeling it despite what salesman had promised in the store when he bought it. Holding his breath through every movement until Brian found him. Hands sleep-clumsy and warm like the tension he was working through wasn't just thick enough to cut with a knife, but enough to wake him up as well.

"What is it?" Brian murmured, squeezing his fingers gently as he pressed a yawn into the curl of his forearm. Lips ghosting over his skin in a way that went straight to his cock as Brian tensed through a half-stretch. "Bad dream?"

He scrubbed his hands over his eyes, knowing before he turned that he'd find Brian looking back at him. He let out a long breath through his nose before he did, smiling small and apologetic. Eying the way Brian's lip quirked up like he'd said something amusing with his expression.

"Yeah, something like that," he answered. Leaving the rest unsaid. Feeling stupid for not just saying it. Reminded that he never used to censor himself before. Not about the things that weren't wounding anyway.

But Brian just nodded. Pulling him in with no judgments and best of all no more words. Just the heavy weight of his arm around his shoulder. Threatening to brush the jut of his ribs and the soft puddle of stomach he'd long given up being self-conscious about.

Somewhere outside the sirens started up again. Counting the breathes between the sounds until he was certain Brian hadn't drifted back to sleep. That he was just as awake as he was. Staring into nothing with him.

It was so real it didn't feel like it.

This was the shit they always skipped over in the movies.

Too self reflective and unnecessary not to hit the cutting room floor.

He was probably making this more complicated then it was.

Probably just getting paranoid in his middle age or something.

And yeah, that was a big load of bullshit too.

Because the truth was, sometimes he'd catch Brian looking at him like he'd never said everything he wanted too either.

* * *

"So, I tested your blood," he opened casually the following Monday when there was a lull between cases. "From the crime scene? I ran your blood through every single database. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary - unless you count the fact that the fabric analysis aged your jacket at about seventy-five years, give or take some manufacturing dates. I never took you for someone who wore _anything_ second-hand."

"What?" Brain slapped back, ignoring his grin in favor of sounding genuinely surprised. Making confusion and concern tick inside his chest like a disturbed heart-rate. Silently hoping the man's surprise was aimed at the jacket before Brian imploded that particular pipe-dream.

"So, what? Selectively-reactive DNA?" Brian asked, leaning in like he had the results on the table. Which he didn't. _Jesus Christ._

"Which _isn't_ a thing," he muttered. Stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning away because he honestly didn't know if he could have this conversation and look at Brian at the same time. Realizing his assumptions on how this conversation was going to go were completely different from reality. "You literally just made that up. That's not how science works."

"I need your believing face," Brian told him firmly. Heading over to the computer to pull up the case report he shouldn't have been looking at in the first place. It wasn't against protocol, but it wasn't exactly encouraged either.

That and Jack would know.

More to the point, he'd hear about it for letting Brian go digging.

"It's kind of hard to believe when - A. It isn't possible. B. It isn't probable. And C. If you don't stop with this- ' _I'm not what I appear'_ thing, I'm going to start worrying you aren't getting what you need out of your therapy sessions."

He said it with sarcastic lilt. The same as he always did when they were bickering or just plain flirting with one another but Brain still flinched. Pulling away slowly as his eyes flicked off to the left, hooded and animal-nervous. Like he'd said something that'd hurt instead of how they usually dug into one another. Not knowing what to do about it when he suddenly walked to the other side of the lab without a word. Busying himself with one of the microscopes.

_Shit._

He watched the angry line of Brian's back for a long time. Hoping to catch him when he turned around. Desperate for a natural opening rather than a forced one. But it was just another excuse. Not even holding up when Brian shucked off his lab coat and left an hour later – yelling something about a late lunch to Derek from the GSR lab when he passed him in the hall.

It reminded him of something he'd overheard Hannibal and Jack talking about not long after the psychiatrist had become something of a fixture whenever Will was around. Brain wasn't like Will – he wasn't a rare, breakable little teacup. But he _was_ vulnerable. And apparently, in his quest to hold on to this one good thing in his life, he'd taken Brian's ability to cope for granted.

_God, his therapist was right._

_He really was an asshole sometimes._

* * *

Brian left without saying anything after his shift, leaving him to go home alone. Alone in a car that was still set to play Brian's favorite station. Alone in his house that seemed to be equally seeded with Brian's things. Clothes. Books. A sweater. A pair of black boxers that looked too perfect to be real. Three toothbrushes which he had zero explanation for. And a cat who finally decided to grace him with her fluffy presence now that there was no sign of any strange, dark-haired men sprawled around like they owned the place.

Being alone in his own space had never seemed more unpalatable.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- Charmolypi: a mixed feeling of happiness while being sad.


End file.
